"Do you normally make-out with the people you're hired to kill? It doesn't strike me as very professional."
"Put the gun down," Gabriel panted, not answering her.
"Why on earth would I do that?"
"Because you're not going to shoot me," Gabriel rep...
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The red crayon snapped in Carter's hand as he tried blending it with the yellow. He wasn't allowed any musical instruments because that was viewed as too disruptive, so he was relieved they were at least letting him color. But Cedar Grove Psychiatric Hospital's version of "coloring" didn't involve his preferred medium of colored pencils, which were considered too dangerous. Instead, he was stuck with six crayons. Well, seven, but he refused to use the orange one that looked as though it had been chewed on.
Carter didn't understand the staff's definition of "dangerous." Everything was technically dangerous, including the six crayons he could shove down his throat to try to choke himself. But he was trying to get out as soon as possible, so he hadn't mentioned this to the staff.
He really didn't have any desire to harm himself. Now that he was back on his medication, his brain had returned to a peaceful equilibrium. His primary goal at this point was just getting out. He wanted to be with his sister to get updates as soon as they were available. It had been over 48 hours since he had talked to Ash, and the only update he had gotten from the Cedar Grove staff was that she was still alive but unconscious. That had been yesterday. And the anxiety surrounding Ash's condition was only exacerbated by the patronizing way the staff insisted on talking to him - acting as though he was five and praising him for basic things like eating and going to bed on time.
At least the tension of living in the facility wasn't compounded by fear of his father unleashing a plague to kill the majority of Earth's population. An FBI Agent – Agent Harris – had apparently been assigned to stay in the hospital with Carter, and another – Agent Mehta – had come to interrogate him twice. They had both assured him that his father's plan had been foiled, though they were fairly sparse on the details.
As Carter continued to color, he heard Agent Mehta's familiar voice.
"Harris," she greeted the agent stationed outside his door in her commanding, low-pitch voice.
"Mehta," Harris responded. "You make any progress with Martinez?"
Carter rolled his eyes. For FBI agents, they were pretty cavalier about letting him overhear their conversations. Sure, there was a wall between them, but they should realize that the vents that made it easy for the staff to hear into the rooms made it just as easy for the patients to hear out.
"Hasn't said a word," Agent Mehta responded. "Martinez is military. He's probably the least likely to crack out of all of them."
"What about the other one? The one who came in with Gabriel."
"Kyle. He lawyered up immediately."
"Martinez's parents?" Agent Harris asked.
Carter didn't know why Agent Harris insisted on going through the whole group. Obviously Mehta hadn't gotten anything out of them - that's why she was here: to try to get something from Carter, the weak link. But he was glad Harris was running through the group because he enjoyed hearing about the others.
